100 Moments in the Life of Tom Marvolo Riddle
by Dreams of Disaster
Summary: For the first time, Tom Riddle learns to live, rather than simply surviving. HP/TR to come...
1. First Meeting

Disclaimer: I don't own J.K. Rowling's creations or the Harry Potter Universe, unfortunately.

Please Read and Review!

~Dreams of Disaster

* * *

Tom stared at Hogwarts castle in awe, conscious that his soon-to-be classmates were doing the same. Children had already clustered into little groups, creating their coteries for the year, and possibly the ones after that.

No one was standing next to Tom, and he felt a sudden pang of loneliness and loss, before pushing those feelings away. _He would not be weak... not weak... not weak... not him..._

"Hello, I'm Harry Potter. What's your name?" someone asked cheerfully from somewhere to the right and beneath him. Tom looked down into the greenest eyes he had ever seen. The boy asking the question had untidy, spiky hair that looked as though he had been electrocuted. A strange scar adorned his forehead. A haze of powerful light magic surrounded and enveloped his body, concentrated in several places more than others. However, strangely, pure black magic emanated from the scar. Tom made a mental note to ask about its origin later.

"I am Tom Riddle. Nice to meet you, Harry Potter," Tom replied. _Maybe_, he allowed himself to hope, _I will have a friend here_.

Harry smiled back at him in a friendly way, but then an awkward silence settled between the two.

"So," Harry continued, taking the initiative, but still fidgeting nervously with his robes, "what house do you want to be in?"

"Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin, right?" Tom asked in clarification. "I prefer Ravenclaw or Slytherin, but I think the Sorting Hat has the last say in the choice of house."

Harry seemed to wince slightly before saying, "So you're one of those bookish types, right? You probably like learning. Unfortunately, studying is not one of my strengths. My mum and dad were in Gryffindor, but I don't think I'll live up to their legacy. I just want to..." He trailed off.

Tom nearly laughed. Was it true that Harry didn't realize how powerful he was? Some grown wizards probably would not rival his raw magical aptitude. But Tom kept his mouth shut and his face expressionless, before saying, "I think -"

"Hey, Harry!" a redhead shouted rudely, marching up to Tom's conversation partner, and grabbing his hand. "You don't have to hang out with slimy Slytherins, come on and talk to us Gryffindors over here!"

"And you are...," Tom asked coolly, expecting the redhead to realize the error of his deeds. The arrogant boy did not seem to realize any sarcasm in the statement.

"I'm Ron Weasley, chess champion, Gryffindor Golden Boy, and Boy Who Lived. You should watch out if you go to Slytherin, you slimy snake, because Dean, Seamus, and I will prank you like no tomorrow!"

Tom smirked back and grabbed Harry's other hand. "I'm Tom Riddle, and you are nothing more than a - " Tom let out a stream of several curse and swear words, some of which he had heard but didn't know the complete meanings of.

Ron's face turned redder and redder by the second, before deepening to an ugly puce color. "You'll get what's coming to you, Riddle. I might not know lots of magic yet, but I can still make your life difficult for you."

He stormed away, dragging Harry with him, without waiting for a response. In a few minutes, Harry was talking animatedly with Ron's large group of friends, without looking back to acknowledge Tom.

Something in Tom broke at the sight. Was he really so repulsive that no one would pay attention to him? Did he deserve no friends?

A flash of green caught Tom's eyes for a split second, and he realized that Harry was staring silently at him. The other boy's lips curved into a small smile and he winked ever-so-slightly before mouthing, "Friends?"

Tom allowed himself to smile back for the first time in years. The muscles felt odd when stretched, and he thought he was grimacing, but Harry still looked at him encouragingly.

Then the moment was lost. Harry was again chatting with a boy named Seamus who had a thick Irish accent. Weasley threw bits and pieces into the conversation here and there.

But a swell of triumph and and happiness broke through the dam of inscrutability that Tom had created for himself over the years. _Friends?_ he thought. _Would he be friends with Harry Potter?_

The word sounded nice and warm and comfortable, like a fire on Christmas Eve.

_Yes, friends indeed._

* * *

Please Read and Review!

~Dreams of Disaster


	2. Potions Poisoning

[Insert Disclaimer Here]

Asterisked writing means copied from the book. Thanks for reading this!

Please Review! Constructive criticism is welcome. If you have any ideas for side pairings, please PM me to let me know!

~Dreams of Disaster

* * *

Potions class was taught by a dark, cold man by the name of Severus Snape. When Tom walked inside the classroom, he could feel the hatred and menace wafting off of the skeletal, hook-nosed, oily-haired man. Despite these unfavorable circumstances, the canned potions ingredients and cool dungeon air made him feel right at home.

When everyone had sat down, Professor Snape flicked his wand at the board and instructions slowly appeared as though being written simultaneously.

He glanced around the classroom, his upper lip curling in disgust. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." *

"That sentence actually started well - until he called us all 'dunderheads'," Dean Thomas whispered, but his voice reverberated across the classroom. Snape's head turned slightly, his cold black eyes boring into Thomas. Tom shivered in a combination of excitement and fear.

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor, Thomas, for maligning a teacher," Snape snapped curtly and then looked away as though Thomas was not worth his attention. The Gryffindor side of the class groaned and shifted slightly unanimously, while the Slytherins smirked. Tom stared at Harry, who stared back. Both shook their heads slightly, at the same time. Though they would be 'secret friends', they would have to pretend to be enemies here.

Then, Snape whipped around and snatched a paper from his podium, starting to take roll.

"Bulstrode, Millicent."

"Present."

Until...

"Weasley, Ronald," Snape sneered. "Our new celebrity."

"Weasley!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" *

"How should I know?" Weasley replied insolently, lolling his head on the back of his chair. "Potions are for slimy snakes who have nothing better to do."

Snape's nostrils flared, and he seemed to visibly calm himself before he said anything. Tom thought it was a pity, because Snape cursing a helpless Ronald Weasley would have been quite a sight.

"Tut, tut, Weasley. Clearly fame isn't everything," * Snape countered, before turning away. "Does anyone else other than Granger know the answer?"

Draco Malfoy answered, "The Draught of Living Death, sir," and smirked at Weasley in superiority. Tom mirrored the same expression mentally, but took extra care as to not let his amusement slip into his impassive expression.

"Today, we shall create the Cure for Boils," Snape's nasal voice sliced through Tom's meandering thoughts. "Hopefully," a glare towards the shaking Neville Longbottom, "you will not destroy your cauldron on the first day. The punishments for misbehavior will be... dire," Snape ended ominously, enjoying the frightened, desperate look on Longbottom's face.

"You have the rest of the period - namely, forty minutes. You may begin," Snape whirled away in a twist of dark robes, almost batlike in nature and Tom mentally promised himself that he would learn to do the same.

About thirty minutes in, Tom glanced at Longbottom's cauldron. Surprisingly, it was at a better position than his was, silvery fumes were rising from it already. The potion was almost done. Longbottom was sweating, wiping droplets of perspiration off of his cheeks in relief. A surge of jealousy burst in Tom, and he saw his chance.

As Longbottom bent down to tie his loose shoes, Tom lobbed some extra Erumpent fluid into the other's cauldron. The cauldron exploded loudly and Longbottom's ruined potion blew onto Longbottom himself - who screamed even louder, Weasley - to Tom's satisfaction, and Professor Snape who was looming behind Weasley's potion at the time.

Tom smirked. He considered it a job well done. Wearing a faux-innocent look on his face, he went back to his potion, finished it, and left a vial on the good professor's desk.

By the time he returned, Snape had charmed away his boils, and had grabbed a whimpering Longbottom by the collar. Tom viewed the sight with internal amusement. Longbottom was pathetically protesting that his potion had been perfect... oh, if only Tom had his camera.

The bell rang for next period, and Snape bodily hauled Longbottom off to the Headmaster's Office. Tom was still laughing mentally until...

"Tom, I know it was you."

_Damn_, Tom thought mentally. _He'd been caught by..._

"Hello to you too, Harry," he replied, staring unflinchingly into emerald green depths.

Harry stared serenely back at him. "That wasn't very nice, Tom."

"I'm _not _nice, Harry. Neither can I pretend to be," Tom countered.

"You shouldn't be afraid to admit someone is better than you," Harry said reasonably. "You can't be good at everything, no matter how much you try."

"I'll kill anyone who is better than me," Tom shot back impulsively.

"Even me?" Harry asked calmly, stopping Tom in his tracks. "That's a shame. I thought we were friends."

Tom knew when he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He couldn't acknowledge that Harry may be better than him out loud, but not saying so could destroy their fragile overtures of friendship.

Tom's continued silence closed something in Harry's expressive eyes.

"Forget it, Tom," he snapped, patience worn thin. "You're just like every other hard-hearted, bigoted, manipulative Slytherin, aren't you? I was a fool to think you were different and _nicer_."

Harry turned around and stepped away. Each footstep took him farther away from Tom, farther away from any chance of a true friendship. Tom knew he had to do something about it now, something when he actually had a chance.

So when Tom's cooler, larger lips met Harry's softer, pinker ones, Tom couldn't bring himself to regret it.

Not one bit.

* * *

A/N: Hope I didn't go fast with the relationship. Though Tom actually kisses Harry in this chapter, Harry doesn't want to have Tom as a boyfriend. The true 'relationship' will actually come later, probably around fourth/fifth year, when Harry might start to change his mind a bit.

Please Read and Review!

~Dreams of Disaster


	3. Rippling Repercussions

A/N: So, hopefully, I'm writing this well. Yeah, and please let me know if there is something wrong. PM me if you have any suggestions for pairings or improvements, etc.

Thanks for reading...

~Dreams of Disaster

* * *

Tom heard Harry gasp as their lips touched, and took advantage of the other's surprise by slipping his tongue into Harry's mouth. In a moment, he was exploring, drunk in Harry's intoxicating taste...

A sharp slap and the resulting, stinging pain in his left cheek left him stunned, and he careened back into the wall in agony.

"What the hell?!" Harry shouted, in parts humiliated, confused, and furious. His holly wand was out and pointing ominously at Tom. "Why did you...," he trailed off in embarrassment.

"...kiss you?" Tom completed, cradling his bruised cheek and feeling needlelike pain lance through the injured part again. He winced and Harry had the grace to look slightly guilty.

"...what you said," Harry muttered, a crimson blush blooming across his cheekbones. Tom personally thought he looked adorable, but didn't say so out loud. Harry was perplexed enough already; there was no need to add to his befuddlement at the moment.

When did he start caring about the emerald-eyed boy? And why didn't he curse Harry immediately after he slapped him - refusing his attentions? Tom pushed away those thoughts and locked them in a box inside a box inside a box inside a box, just like he usually did to feelings he didn't want to remember or think about.

"So...," Harry began in what he probably thought was a menacing tone, twirling his wand between his fingers.

Tom snorted in amusement, disregarding Harry's heated glare. That wand was no threat to him - why, he could do _wandless_ magic with his eyes closed! And Harry may believe that putting his hands on his hips was a threatening stance, but Tom's urge to laugh grew every moment as he stared at the indignant Potter.

"I kissed you, _Harry_," he replied in a semblance of his usual, unconcerned drawl, savoring Harry's name as it slid off his tongue smoothly. "That is something two people," he said, counting on his fingers and holding them up, to Harry's reddened face, "do when they like each other."

Harry looked stricken and more confused than ever. For a moment, Tom had his doubts. Had he pushed Harry too far, too fast? It was a stretch to admit his unconscious feelings for the other...

"Um," Harry started, looking down at his feet as though he could not bear to look at Tom, "I think I'd better be going." He twisted his robes nervously in his hands. "You know, we have to write a nineteen-inch report for Flitwick about levitation charms. I think I should -"

"Harry!" Tom cried in desperation, trying to salvage what little relationship he may have left with the boy. A white-hot pain seared across his cheek again, this time closer to his lips. How much of his face had Harry slapped? Tom wondered belatedly. He was sure that his face would be black and blue tomorrow. Perhaps a concealment charm would prevent gossip?

But how had an unremarkable boy managed to affect him so much, to get under his skin like that? No one else had come as close to Tom's heart as Harry had and lived to tell the tale...

There was no stopping Harry. By the time Tom had yanked himself out of his thoughts and cast a Stabilizing Charm (from the third-year book, he noted with some satisfaction) on his cheek, all that was left of Tom's former friend and almost-lover was the shadow of a black Hogwarts cloak that quickly disappeared around the hallway corner.

"What's wrong, ickle mudblood Riddle? Like the sound of my voice?" a sneering voice drifted to Tom.

"Oh, yes, Malfoy," Tom said, without turning around, "your voice is absolutely music to my ears. In fact, I recommend that you duet with Celestina Warbeck. More galleons to add to the Malfoy coffers. Anyways," he said hopefully, "maybe you can take Dumb and Dumber and leave?"

Malfoy's face turned a bright pink and blood rose to his pale cheeks. "What would you know about money, mudblood? You're an orphan - no parents, money, or name to redeem you. I bet you don't have a single cent and come to Hogwarts on scholarship."

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered unintelligently. Malfoy seemed to puff up with pride, now that he had more support on his side, though the support came in the form of two oversized, brainless goons.

Tom shot back, "What's wrong if I come on scholarship? And if I don't have money, parents, or a nice, shiny pureblood name? At least I'll know that everything I get here is something I've earned, rather than something 'my father' got me."

Malfoy laughed. "Well, it looks like you're not off to an amazing start, Riddle. Your boyfriend just went running back to Mummy Weasley. Count me amazed if he even spares a glance at you again."

A cold rage built up in Tom, and he realized that no one was here to stop him. He could hurt Malfoy and no one would ever have to know. He could make Malfoy dance the tango, lick the dusty ground, kiss Filch, or even kill himself, if he wanted it badly enough.

But Harry would not be happy. That thought nearly brought Tom up short, his arm halfway into his robe pocket.

_Why do you care so much about Potter, Tom? He's just another one of _them _and there is no reason why you need to keep seeking his approval to no avail. He will never notice. He "won't spare a glance at you again."_

Tom's will slipped away and he raised his yew wand, casting, "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" It was the first charm they had learned in Flitwick's class, and naturally, Tom had mastered it by the end of the period. But he had never tried casting it on a human before... He wondered what the results would be.

A moment passed. Malfoy smirked, thinking nothing had happened. "I knew you were a filthy little mudblood, Riddle. You can't even cast a levi-Ah!"

Tom watched in slight wonder as Malfoy began to drift towards the ceiling, much like the feathers that he had been practicing on in Charms class. Crabbe and Goyle tripped over themselves trying to reach Malfoy's rising body. Tom noted that one of them once managed to snag Malfoy's flailing left forearm, but tripped over the other's toes. Both goons howled and turned beady eyes upon Tom.

Seeing that he needed to control the situation quickly, Tom gazed up at the floating Malfoy and said, "Hopefully, Flitwick will find a way to get you down. I haven't read up on the counter spell to levitation yet." That was a lie. Tom knew he would never cast a spell without knowing how to reverse it. However, Crabbe and Goyle seemed to believe it, starting menacingly towards Tom.

"Ge' 'im do'n, Widdle," one grunted, and Tom was surprised that the grunts were even intelligible. He didn't know he could understand Troll. However, there remained the fact that Tom was outnumbered two to one, and both opponents had about three times as much body mass as he did. The chances of him escaping scot-free seemed vanishingly small.

_Are you a wizard or not?_ Tom's inner voice asked sanctimoniously. Sometimes Tom really hated his inner voice.

"Get away from me!" Tom shouted, waving his wand threateningly. "Or I'll do the same to you."

This stopped both Crabbe and Goyle short. They glanced at each other with dull eyes, debating what to do next.

"Go get Riddle, Crabbe!" Malfoy shrieked from his place near the ceiling.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Tom snapped, tucking his wand back in his pocket, and feeling a migraine begin in his temple. The blond's voice grated on him tremendously. "I can still do the Color-Changing Charm on you. Imagine...," he paused dramatically, "an orange-haired Malfoy. Even though the charm won't be permanent, it will ruin your reputation amongst your precious perfect purebloods."_  
_

"My father will hear about this," Malfoy hissed with much vitriol under his breath.

Tom speared the upstart with a silencing glare of his own. "I thought I told you explicitly to 'shut up', Malfoy. Unfortunately, it seems as though you are incapable of following simple directions."

Malfoy made to interrupt the tirade.

"Though," Tom continued, "I believe you should get help now, dear _Draconis_. The longer you stay up there, the more the charm wears off. Eventually, you will fall."

Malfoy gulped and peeked down. He didn't look like he liked what he saw. "Crabbe, Goyle," he yelped. "Get Flitwick, now!"

Crabbe and Goyle glanced at each other again, but didn't seem to reach a particular conclusion. They looked down the hallway, which soon branched off into two different passageways. They grunted at each other, having a conversation in Troll again, before lumbering off in different directions.

"Where are you going?" Malfoy screeched again, gaze flashing around furtively, hoping for a teacher to come around the corner and punish Tom.  
He didn't receive an answer.

Tom turned back to see Malfoy one last time before striding away. He had Herbology with the Gryffindors in fifteen minutes and could not afford to be late. Malfoy would just have to find his way to the ground on his own.

"By the way, Malfoy," Tom called back conversationally, "we have never had this conversation, comprendes? We do not know each other at all. You were cursed by an unknown Gryffindor, who, after you insulted Weasley's lack of money, decided to get back at you."

Malfoy shot a furtive glance at Tom's concealed wand, and nodded reluctantly, visibly swallowing nervously.

A few moments later, Tom was around the corner and the floating Malfoy was no longer visible. Tom let his head droop. He didn't feel so well either. His head was paining him, and he ached all over.

But the frightened look on Malfoy's face was almost worth it.

Almost.

* * *

A/N: Aw, Tom can never do anything right, can he?

Anyways, please Read and Review!

~Dreams of Disaster


	4. Sparking Hatred

A/N: Well, hope you like this chapter. Please read and review! And so far, thank you, my faithful readers and reviewers. Extra thanks go to...

**koryandrs**

**TypeName**

**Yume** (guest reviewer)

**Insanely-Yours96**

**Stardust of Orion**

Thanks a lot for reviewing and giving me advice!

Now comes the story... :)

* * *

When Tom walked down the hallway in front of the Transfiguration classroom several days later, he saw an unusual sight. Almost all of the Gryffindors were already prepared for the day's lessons (i.e. had taken out their books – A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Miranda Goshawk, their quills, ink pots, and some parchment for notes). They were chatting excitedly in isolated corners of the classroom, some clustered around the "Notice Board" that McGonagall had erected near the door.

"What's happening here?" Tom mouthed to Harry, who had been hanging near Weasley like a second shadow for the past few days, and was currently looking bored.

For a moment, bright emerald eyes met Tom's murky brown depths, and Tom felt Harry was going to say something. Then, Harry turned away and forced a smile at whatever Weasley seemed to be saying at the moment.

Something tightened in Tom, but he too turned away resolutely. He could live without Harry, even though it felt as though something essential had been torn out of his chest. His heart? No, that couldn't be possible. He hadn't had one to begin with.

"What's going on?" Tom asked a bookish Slytherin by the name of Theodore "Call me Teddy" Nott. Nott was one of the only Slytherins who didn't take offense to Tom's supposed Muggleborn heritage. The rest of the Slytherins rallied behind Draco Malfoy either because they were afraid of Lucius Malfoy's considerable political influence or because they truly believed in pureblood supremacy and wanted Tom gone, where he couldn't "taint" them anymore with his "impure blood"

Teddy stared up from his book and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his pinky. His initial expression was annoyance, which then softened to 'squishy' emotions (in Tom's opinion) like sympathy and pity upon seeing the cause of interruption.

"Oh, you don't know, do you?" he asked rhetorically, glancing at the excited Gryffindors. "We're having a flying lesson today with Madame Hooch. The Gryffindorks are glad because they love flying. Not that we don't," he added hastily, glancing around furtively for signs of Malfoy, "but don't tell Malfoy I said this."

"What?" Tom questioned, having a good idea of what Teddy was going to say, but wanting to hear it out loud as confirmation.

"Griffins are better at Quidditch than we are," Teddy continued, voice low. "They usually win the Quidditch Cup each year. We Slytherins win sometimes, too, but it's usually because our team _cheats_."

Tom was not at all surprised by this revelation. He had already spent weeks in the Common Room, and by subtly eavesdropping on some conversations, had been able to tell that standards in Slytherin were deteriorating. Sure, Slytherins were sly, ambitious, and cunning. But stealing was not honorable, even in twisted Slytherin morals. Tom rather thought he would like to win through talent, not thievery.

"Everyone," McGonagall barked as she swept into the room, "please sit down and cease chattering, else the jewels in the hourglasses of your respective houses will be suddenly and tragically decreased."

Teddy nodded to Tom in acknowledgment before returning to his Transfiguration textbook. Malfoy, who had entered the classroom right before McGonagall had, sneered at the interaction.

McGonagall Conjured a megaphone and her voice blared loudly across the classroom. "SIT DOWN!"

Everyone mercifully shut up.

McGonagall promptly Vanished the megaphone again and said in a considerably quieter voice, "Yes, we are having a flying lesson today – the first of many in our school year. But no, this lesson will not be taking the place of Transfiguration; it will take place after your last class. Now, open your textbooks to page thirty-seven. Today we will be talking about the Minimal Transfiguration Theory by Frantz Dodderson in application to Partial Transfigurations..."

Tom quickly became absorbed in the lesson, and was calmly reading his textbook's example of turning a toothpick into a needle by changing the atomic and molecular structures of each square millimeter of the toothpick. Then, a paper airplane slowly landed on the corner of his desk and unfolded itself. Letters that became words appeared on it slowly...

_Dear itty bitty mudblood Riddle,_

_Now you know who I am._

_Well, share the gossip with me!_

_I know you were kissing Potter the other day. Did you move on to Nott this time? Settling for less, aren't we?_

_I'd admit myself that Potter is pretty cute, but you've messed up your chances with him. I think I'd like to go out with him sometime._

_Your face is turning dangerously red, Riddle. What, about to have an aneurysm? Well, don't postpone it on my account. I'm sure Harry and I will have a wonderful laugh when you're dead._

"Mr. Riddle, passing notes in class?" McGonagall stared disapprovingly at Tom. She walked down the gaps in the rows of desks and picked up Malfoy's note. Tom felt an internal smugness rise inside him. Malfoy would be discovered for the scum he was...

"Excuse me, Riddle!" McGonagall gasped, color rising in two distinct spots on her cheeks. She glared at Tom as though he had insulted her personally. From the corner of his eye, Tom noticed Malfoy smirking. "What is the meaning of this?"

"What?" Tom asked, hopelessly confused.

McGonagall set down Malfoy's unfolded paper airplane, and to Tom's shock, the words Malfoy had charmed onto it were there no more. Instead, there was a lewd picture of a plump, red-haired woman shamelessly displaying her more... private body parts. Tom knew instinctively that the image depicted a Weasley. Below the provocative image was:

_Hey, Weasel._

_We need fewer blood traitors walking on Earth, don't you agree? I, for one, am glad she's dead._

_~Riddle_

"Detention for a month, Riddle!" McGonagall shrieked in outrage. "With Filch!" she added as an afterthought.

Malfoy, his supporters, and his goons sniggered from across the classroom, but McGonagall paid them no mind.

"You should be ashamed of yourself!" the professor berated, her nostrils flaring in fury. "Mr. Weasley's mother made an extraordinary sacrifice that you cannot possibly imagine. I hope the detentions will instill more respect in you. Honestly, children nowadays..."

Tom glanced desperately at Harry, but the boy did not look up. Weasley was drilling holes in the back of Tom's head and Tom knew he would have to dodge stray feet for the next few weeks. He wouldn't be surprised if his book bag was torn open more than once, or if his homework mysteriously disappeared. His potions might even strangely explode. Such was the way of the world.

Harry was staring at him, too. Now, no one was laughing, not even Malfoy, who wore a fake-innocent face. Green eyes glared and turned away. Tom was not worth Harry's attention. At the end of class, Tom saw a note land on his desk. In green ink, there was simply one word.

_Why?_

Tom spent the rest of his free period trying to figure out what Harry had meant. He didn't conclude anything. Did Harry mean Malfoy's floating episode? Longbottom's explosion? Weasley's mother's drawing?

He wanted to apologize, but he felt like he was climbing the sheer face of a mountain and kept sliding down, no matter how hard he tried to hold on. Why couldn't he do anything right? And where was his inner voice when he most needed it?

He screamed inwardly, for anything to just... help. His head drooped.

All was silent.

* * *

A/N: Cliffhanger! The flying lesson will be in the next chapter. I'm changing things up a bit...

Also, sorry if I'm not replying to your reviews. I usually try to concentrate on the story and less on saying thanks. Though, to all my reviewers again, thank you, thank you, thank you. It's great that you take such an interest in my work. *blushes*

Again, if you have any suggestions, contact me!


	5. Charms Class

A/N: So, um, hi! Sorry for not updating for so long. My computer crashed, and when I finally rebooted it, I realized that all my MS Word documents were gone. Cue a terrible disaster.

Anyways, hope you like this chapter. And please read and review!

~Dreams of Disaster

P.S. And thank you for over 1,000 views, my faithful readers. Woo hoo!

* * *

Tom was morose and brooding for the entire day, which prompted Teddy to ask what was wrong. When Tom snapped back at him in a fit of anger, the bookworm shied away and told Tom he would come back when the Slytherin had calmed down.

At the moment, Tom was meticulously taking notes in Charms class, his last class of the day. Luckily, Malfoy was absent here - probably skiving - and Tom did not have to endure the blond's painful jibes. However, nothing could save him from the fifteen pairs of eyes boring into the back of his head. Almost all of the Gryffindors had taken personal insult to 'Tom's' drawing, and had sworn vengeance.

_Death by staring, _Tom thought. _What a terrible way to die._

Tom was marginally appeased by the fact that Flying Lessons would be taking place after this class. It would a time to unwind and relax, and maybe the Gryffindors would be so excited by the lessons that they would forget about blaming him.

_Not likely, _Tom's more cynical self sniped. _Gryffindors might mostly be airheads, but even their pitiful brains have a number of memory cells. Gryffindors can hold grudges for a very long time.  
_

Tom sighed and doodled aimlessly on the edges of his written-all-over parchment, promising himself he would rewrite the notes more neatly later. Dreamily, he sketched a face, a nose, untidy hair, and then _those _eyes. He almost smiled at paper-Harry before scowling violently and crumpling his notes up. Oops.

Flitwick continued his lecture with large hand gestures and an overexcited disposition. Tom glared at nothing. Even though Malfoy was not here, this class was still torture. Teddy, who was nodding off beside him, sent him a sympathetic glance.

"Now," Flitwick beamed, "I will give each one of you a partner and," he held up a textbook, "a class set of Charms textbooks. This set is old and outdated, so even if you do take the books, they will not do you much good. I request that you give back the books at the end of the period as I will reuse them next year. Your task is to use the Color-Changing Charm on the cover of the textbook, only. You have the rest of the period with your partner. Just to clarify, your partner and you will only have one book, together."

"Now, for the list!" Flitwick chirped, rummaging around his desk before pulling out a crumpled parchment with a flourish. "The groups will be... Ms. Greengrass and Ms. Granger, Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Thomas, Mr. Goyle and Mr. Nott, Ms. Parkinson and Ms. Patil... " For a moment, Tom forgot his grouchiness and sent a pitying look towards Teddy, who was sneering at the drooling, clueless Goyle. "... Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, and last but certainly not least, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Riddle!"

Harry raised his hand for the first time in class. "Professor Flitwick, Malfoy isn't in class at the moment."

Flitwick blinked and glanced around as though he could not believe his eyes. "Yes, Mr. Potter. You are indeed correct. Hm. I suppose I will have to place you with Mr. Weasley and Mr. Riddle. You can be a group of three!" His frown vanished again and he smiled brightly.

"Now, begin!" Flitwick exclaimed as he waved his hand and the Charms textbooks stacked on his desk distributed themselves to desks across the classroom.

Both Weasley and Harry wandered over to Tom's seat very, very slowly, as if they could delay the inevitable.

Tom was very impatient by the time they arrived and started, "So the incantation is..."

And then, Malfoy burst into the room, sneering as usual and not a hair out of place.

"Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy," Flitwick trotted over, "you are late. Five points from-"

"Professor Flitwick," Malfoy interrupted before the Charms teacher could decrease Slytherin's jeweled hourglass by five. "I have a pass." Back was the infuriating smirk.

Flitwick accepted the parchment and read through it quickly. His brow furrowed, but he did not voice any suspicions.

"Mr. Malfoy, please take a seat next to Ms. Patil. Please raise your hand, Ms. Patil."

Malfoy walked over to his new seat and set his book bag down. But before he could sit, Flitwick added, "Your partner for today is Mr. Potter. Mr. Potter, would you care to fill in Mr. Malfoy on what he missed?"

Harry walked away from his previous partners with more elation than he should have had and with an extra spring in his step. Tom silently regarded Weasley. How the impulsive redhead had become the Boy-Who-Lived was a mystery to him. He had mediocre magical levels and an inflated ego. Tom was quietly surprised that Weasley had so many friends who would continuously stroke his self-esteem. The job seemed like hard work.

But then again, Gryffindors were all for honor and glory, weren't they? Maybe they thought hanging out with the Weasel would give them fame and money. Tom personally suggested sucking up to Malfoy. The day Weasley had enough money was the day Malfoy decided to donate his entire wealth to wizarding charity organizations - in other words, no day. However, since when had Gryffindors had enough sense anyways?

"Riddle," Weasley said gruffly, an expression of loathing twisting his pale, chubby face, "y'know what the incantation for a Color-something charm is, right?"

Tom merely glanced at the book. He had practiced changing entire objects before, but not parts. He frowned and muttered the spell under his breath, not replying to Weasley's question.

The whole book turned neon green from its previous dull brown. Tom wrinkled his forehead, deep in thought. He had just said the spell. However, if he visualized which parts of the book he would change... would that work? This was a Transfiguration technique, but he remembered reading somewhere that magic was "the sensory manifestation of that which is willed by the mind." He pursed his lips in determination. He might as well try.

He flicked his wand and then moved it in a half arc, all the while keeping the image of the book's cover changing color in his mind. He was doubtful, though. Would this way work? Maybe, he should have paid more attention during Flitwick's lecture. He closed his eyes and opened them, hoping with all his heart.

Nothing had changed. The book was as neon green as ever. A spark of both anger and excitement flared in Tom's inexpressive eyes. Finally, a challenge. He loved challenges.

"Ickle Riddle the mudblood can't even change the color of a book cover," Malfoy's sneering voice filtered in. Harry followed behind his partner, looking disapproving, but unwilling to involve himself in the situation.

"Let's see if you can do it, Malfoy," Tom replied coolly, and with just a slight undertone of mocking.

"Of course I can do it," Malfoy drawled in boredom. "My father-"

"I think we all know about your father by now, Malfoy," Tom intervened quickly. "Hell, we know which bathroom he went to when he wanted to wank. Just cast the spell. It is really straightforward. Unless, of course, you don't know how to do it?"

Malfoy straightened up in indignation, but did not reply with one of his patented "My father will hear about this!"

Instead, the Slytherin retaliated passively, casting, "Mutare colorem fulvum!" at Tom's textbook. The book's covers turned a pale yellow and the green pages turned white again.

Tom nearly stuttered before asking, "How did you do that?" He was curious. Malfoy's incantation was no different from his, except for the last word, which specified the color yellow. Other than that, there was no reason Malfoy should be able to do something Tom couldn't.

"Five points to Slytherin!" Flitwick beamed again, awarding Malfoy another smile. "Good job, Mr. Malfoy!"

Malfoy smiled superciliously. "Of course I can do it. I'm not a filthy mudblood like you."

Tom groaned. Not again. Malfoy was running out of insults and effectiveness if he brought up Tom's unconfirmed blood status in every conversation.

Harry pulled Malfoy by the arm and dragged the Slytherin away manually. Tom guessed Malfoy had pushed Harry's buttons by saying "mudblood."

Then, Tom looked around the classroom. Finnegan had set his book on fire, and Longbottom had somehow Transfigured the book into a frog. Granger was staring at her book with a certain sure intensity. Patil and Parkinson had managed to turn the font color of all the words in the book into fuchsia.

He frowned. What did Malfoy have that none of the rest did? Even Nott the bookworm seemed to growl at the book in frustration before casting at it futilely.

Then, the proverbial lightbulb burst above his head. _Oh!_

It wasn't that Malfoy was magically stronger or that he had had more practice. Tom recalled a snippet of sentences from a book he had read at Flourish and Blotts.

_Magic is not an innate power; it is the inner strength that bubbles within us all. Those who truly believe they can do, are those who can truly do what they believe._

Tom remembered tossing the book back on the shelf in disgust, thinking it was all sentimental drivel. But was it really?

Watching everyone else struggle with the charm, Tom glanced at Malfoy thoughtfully. Was Malfoy more clever than anyone else? Did he have strength of will?

"Riddle," Weasley said from his sprawled position in Tom's chair. "You gonna do it, or not?"

Tom held back a couple of choice comments that would have incited Weasley to cause a scene, and glanced back at his dull brown book. It seemed as though Color Changing charms didn't last forever, not even Malfoy's.

He calmed himself, and repeated mentally...

_I can do it. I can do it. I can do it._

... and cast. It didn't work. _Why?_ Tom asked himself. He had tried his best. Maybe he should ask the teacher for help. But that would be tantamount to giving up. And Tom would never, ever surrender.

Tom changed his mental chant again, believing he had finally hit the jackpot...

_I will do it. I will do it. I will do it. Iwilldoit. Iwilldoit. iwilldoitiwilldoitiwilldoit. _Tom thought the chant was rhythmical and soothing, almost like a song.

... and cast again, visualizing the book that _would _change color. He closed his eyes, grinning in triumph, and opened them slowly.

The book's covers were finally a dark forest green, just as Tom had wanted them to be. For a second, time seemed to slow down, nearly stop. Then, the second was gone.

Several things happened in the moment after.

Malfoy gaped, almost fishlike, from where he was talking to Harry.

Hermione Granger, the know-it-all, made a beeline for him.

Parkinson and Patil glanced up and giggled, pointing shamelessly at Tom.

Neville Longbottom's book-frog hopped away as the nervous boy dropped it in shock.

Weasley grabbed the book and inspected it, as though he didn't believe it was not a trick.

... and Professor Flitwick bustled over, glanced at the book, and said, "Amazing, Mr. Riddle! Five points to Slytherin."

Malfoy glared, finally over his surprise, and Tom couldn't resist one last insult, "Guess I'm not really a mudblood after all, aren't I? You were wrong."

Seething, the blond Slytherin fisted his hands in his robes, and leaned forward, whispering, "You will dearly regret humiliating me."

Tom sincerely doubted that.

But what was wrong with a little competition?

And looking back, years later, an adult Tom cheerfully - or as cheerfully as a Dark Lord can ever act - admitted that he had once been extremely naive.

* * *

A/N: Tom will become a Dark Lord. I think my last sentence is foreshadowing. Hopefully, it doesn't give too much away...

By the way, please read and review! And thank you!

~Dreams of Disaster.


End file.
